Close your eyes before the sleep
by MaidenStar
Summary: "In the end, it only takes a single bullet to kill them both, shot at such close range that it sails effortlessly through his body, chest to back, before lodging itself securely in her heart." AU of sorts. When Ward returns to Providence, it is with an army of HYDRA agents, from whom FitzSimmons can only try to hide until it is too late.


**Any all apologies are almost sincere, I own nothing and this is why that's probably a good thing.**

**The title comes from the Ed Sheeran song 'Autumn Leaves', and any and all feedback is always appreciated!**

* * *

In the end, it only takes a single bullet to kill them both, shot at such close range that it sails effortlessly through his body, chest to back, before lodging itself securely in her heart.

They had thought it impossible that their world could fall apart any more than it had already; they'd stood amongst the ruins, had watched the fires burn down as they breathed in the ashes of their previous life and tried to collect the pieces of everything they'd worked so hard to achieve.

Badges gone and identities erased, they were nothing now and this realisation had hit them both painfully hard, left them treading the water in a stormy sea, no sign of the horizon in any direction, holding onto each other when they thought they might sink to the bottom.

They'd been in the kitchen when they first realised something was wrong, that things could actually get worse. Koenig had said Providence was secure, but exactly as the clock struck 7am, the boiling of the kettle was suddenly accompanied by a sudden ring of gunshots. She'd gasped, looking up at him, toast in hand.

"Fitz, was that…?"

He moved quickly to the doorway, shaking his head emphatically because _this couldn't be happening_, but they'd both had enough experience in the field by now to recognise the sound of gunshots. As soon as one round had been fired, another followed, bang after bang shattering the pleasurable silence that they'd learnt to accept as a part of daily life in an underground bunker.

"What should we do?" she asked, halfway out of her seat.

"I...I don't know," he admitted, torn between making a run for it and finding the team, and staying put. They watched each other for a moment, silently conversing, words superfluous as ever.

In the end, the decision to run had required very little thought, both perhaps too terrified of being defenceless and exposed in a room which couldn't be barricaded with anything more than a few flat-pack chairs and a table, or perhaps preferring to place their fate in their own - and each other's - hands.

They'd been aiming to find the team, or grab an ICER, or even just work out what was happening, but as soon as they began to make their way through the labyrinth of corridors, they heard footsteps approaching. Stopped in their tracks, they'd shared a terrified look before Simmons, ever the calmer under pressure, sprang into action. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him with her, running back the way they came for a moment, before taking a left, a right, and another left, and it took him far too long to realise that she was heading for the hangar, and for the Bus. He couldn't bring himself to question her, choosing instead to fall in step and hang onto her hand like it was the only thing keeping him anchored and stable. Perhaps it was.

_Well, at least we still have each other_.

It felt as though they had barely started running when she skidded to a halt, a strangled, horrified cry forcing itself from her lips as he crashed unintentionally into her back. Their hands slipped apart for moment and instantly she grabbed at him, searching, fingers sliding between his own again and clamping down. A moment later, he understood and squeezed her hand back, revulsion swimming in his stomach. May was lying with her back prone against a wall, eyes blank and unseeing as a thick trickle of blood painted a river down her face from the hole in her forehead. Lying prone at her feet was Coulson, bright red ribbons fluttering over the creases in his shirt. There would be no one to mend his heart this time.

Simmons nudged him and canted her head to their right, and he tore his gaze away from Coulson and May, only see the figure of Triplett lying face-down on the floor. He tried not to think about Skye, tried to hope her absence meant that she was alive and fighting.

More voices behind them caused him to jump, and Simmons, eyes wild and panicked, tugged at his hand, urging him to move forward again.

"How many more?" a familiar voice asked as they moved off, and it took Fitz a moment to recognise the speaker as Garrett.

"Two unaccounted for," someone replied, "non-field agents, shouldn't be hard to find."

"Good. Then find them."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

If they had hoped to find a way out, or even just a weapon, it was all they could manage to hide themselves in a supply cupboard without being caught, HYDRA agents suddenly storming the bunker from all angles. They edged to the back of the dark room, to the corner farthest from the door, hoping that they could make a run for it if someone came in, knowing secretly that it would be impossible.

"How did they find the bunker?" Simmons whispered, tears in her voice as she crouched down for a second, catching her breath. Fitz paused, then joined her, sitting down heavily on the cold floor, hand on her knee, urging her to do the same.

"Someone must have been tracking us," he muttered bitterly, "or sold us out."

He felt her press herself against him, leg warm and pleasantly solid against his own as she laid her head on his shoulder. Instinctively he drew his arm around her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment of quiet and he drew back to look down at her.

"Why?" he asked, puzzled.

"We're here because of me," she said sadly, "I dragged you into the field and now look."

"Hey, you didn't drag me anywhere," he said, rubbing circles into her shoulder with the tips of his fingers. "And besides, HYDRA took Sci-Ops too," he told her, shrugging his free shoulder. "I don't regret this, not at all."

She pondered this for a moment, eyes meeting his and saying all that needed to be said.

_Almost_ all that needed to be said, he thought. And perhaps, since this could be the last time they got to talk...

"Hey, Jemma?" he murmured, leaning his head back down against hers.

"Mmm," she hummed, and for a moment it was almost possible to imagine they were back on the Bus, watching movies in his bunk, sharing snacks or sipping beer, spilling secrets and laughing together when they'd had enough to drink and the film got too boring, or the love scene too contrived.

"You're…" he paused, swallowing too loudly in the ringing silence of the room. "You know...how much you mean to me, right?" tears pricked at his eyes as he asked the question, and he felt her nod against him.

"Yes," she murmured, and he both heard and felt a single droplet fall onto his jeans. He wasn't sure who it came from, but it didn't really matter anyway. "And you know how much I care about you, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Good. Because you're my best friend."

"Jemma I - " he hadn't decided how to tell her all the things she meant to him, all the old things he'd felt for her for eight years now, feelings of love and friendship warm and faded like a well-worn jumper. He hadn't arranged the words, trusting that he would find a way to tell her about newer emotions too, about half-formed ideas of four-letter feelings that were still a little too big for him.

Suddenly, the room was half-illuminated in a wide beam of light as the door burst open and the declaration shattered around him, words scattering like shards of glass before he could say them.

Placing a finger to her lips she gestured to her right and he listened as footsteps approached from that direction. A heartbeat later she clutched at him, pulling him up with her as she stood and they began moving to the door, taking quiet, tentative steps to their left every time the heavy footsteps drew nearer.

They clung to the edges of the room, trying to slip silently away when something fell from a shelf, and their attacker caught sight of them. The man advanced quickly, a silhouette in the darkness, features showing themselves only as he got closer, as escape became less likely. Just as Fitz was certain they would be shot there and then, the man hesitated, peering at them and it took Fitz a moment before he realised that the assailant was not an assailant at all.

"Ward?" Simmons sighed in relief, and Fitz was unable to keep from smiling in spite of the fact there were tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Oh, thank _God_, what's going on out there?" he asked, moving in time with Simmons as they stepped out of the shadows and closer to Ward. Fitz, however, was stopped in his tracks in an instant as Ward shifted on the spot, face caught in a chink of light. His eyes were hard, fire dancing within them as he adjusted his grip on the gun in his hand, aiming it slowly at Fitz's chest.

"Ward?" he asked, watching the man's face. "Ward what are you doing? It's us, come on, put the gun down. Please, you're scaring me now."

But as Ward simply moved forward, backing them up against the wall behind them, everything clicked into place. He felt as much as heard Simmons gasp as her hands found his arm, holding on tight.

"You're HYDRA?" Jemma whispered, shock and confusion heavy in each word.

Ward smiled humourlessly and nodded once, a sharp, curt dip off his head.

"Was it you, then?" Fitz asked, suddenly furious. Furious at Ward, furious at HYDRA, at everything.

"What?" Ward asked, tone as hard as his expression.

"Was it you that shot May? And Coulson?" Fitz asked, even as he felt Jemma grip his arm tighter, an urgent message to stop talking, but he had no intention of stopping, not if he was going to die anyway. "Did you kill Trip too? You trained with him, didn't you? None of us meant anything to you?" He couldn't not quite muster the bravery to make this into an accusation, but even as a question, it seemed to stir something in Ward.

Eventually, he shook his head. "No. I - they're dead? All of them?" he sounded more curious that wounded, but Fitz seized the opportunity, nodding gravely. Ward's face mapped out the play of this thoughts, and as Fitz watched him think, words from what felt like an age ago replayed in his own mind, the memories of that day a physical pain slicing through him.

_I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I can shoot the legs off a flea at five hundred yards…_

"Ward, please, come on. You don't have to do this. Just let us go, no one else has to know about this," Fitz stepped hesitantly forward, but stopped quickly as Ward quickly raised the gun higher, gripping it in both hands. Simmons had stepped forward too and Fitz's arm shot out on instinct, trying to push her back.

_...so long as it's not windy_.

In spite of his hesitation, Ward's eyes were hard again, emptier than ever, and it was as though he had never seen them before.

"Grant, please," Simmons tried, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, we're your friends."

_I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I could rupture your spleen with my left pinky, blindfolded._

He laughed at that, a hard, hollow sound as he shook his head.

"No, you're not. You never were."

"I don't believe that," Simmons protested quietly, even as Fitz said,

"No, that's not true."

"You believed what I wanted you to believe," Ward told them tonelessly, removing the pistol's safety lock, seemingly immune to the hurt, confused looks on their faces.

_I'm Agent Grant Ward, and I just jumped out of a plane without a parachute on…_

Ward had fought beside them in the field, laughed along with them on the Bus, and now he was standing before them, taking aim, gun in his right hand as he used his left to steady himself, just as he had the day he protected them from a ghost.

..._and saved your life._

Fitz heard Simmons's breath catch in her throat as they waited and when the gun moved suddenly in Ward's hand, he launched himself in front of Jemma on instinct. Eyes squeezed shut he waited for the inevitable, but when it did not come and he dared to peek between tear-soaked lashes, he found that Ward was not aiming but shaking. Slowly, he lowered the gun.

Fitz released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, as Ward's arms fell to his sides.

All three stared in silence for a moment when a voice from the doorway startled all three of them.

"Oh, good, you've found them Ward," a man Fitz didn't recognise strode over. "Well, finish the job, we've got plenty more to be doing," he said his tone almost cheery.

When Ward didn't move, the unknown HYDRA agent frowned. "Don't tell me you actually got attached?" he asked, laughing. Ward's face was expressionless. "Well, too bad. You can either shoot them yourself or you can watch me do it instead. I really don't care, so just choose quickly."

Ward's eyes darted rapidly back and forth between the man beside him and the two of them, huddled together, Simmon's body pressed between Fitz's back and the wall behind her. With a surge of hope that seemed to somehow warm him, Fitz recognised the look on Ward's face as one of calculation, understood that Ward was coming over to their side again. Just as he was wondering why he ever doubted his friend, the HYDRA agent made a noise, imitating a buzzer, before drawing his gun unimaginably fast.

"Sorry. Time's up."

There was a bang, a moment of stillness and then a pain sliced through him, and then through her, and Simmons heard Fitz cry out, the last thing she could make out before everything faded to nothing. He felt her body go slack against him, understood what had happened as he felt blood seep down his back, sickeningly warm, pain burning him up from the inside out as tears flowed freely down his cheeks again. All he could think of was Jemma as her limp form played heavy at his back, starting to pull him down as his legs went weak. Her head had lulled forward and although the smell of blood began to fill him up, the soft lavender of her shampoo was stronger, making the tears flow faster, heavier.

There were suddenly more people in the room now, Garrett amongst them, and Fitz thought he could hear someone screaming as everything started to fade. He saw Skye, handcuffed, lashing out as best she could at Ward, who was standing, staring blankly, hands still shaking at his sides, eyes rimmed with red. The unknown agent raised the gun again but seemed to realise that a second shot was unnecessary as Fitz's eyes drooped closed, Simmons's hand still clenched in his.

_In the end, it only takes a single bullet to kill them both, and they fall to the ground together, always in step, always in time. _


End file.
